Be Careful Who You Marry

Advice Column #006

This isn't writing I'd usually share. But after reflecting on what it really takes to build a fulfilling, creative life and business, I realized this conversation was necessary.  This space exists to help you give God your "yes" and to inspire you to show up courageously, creatively, and consistently in your calling.  Who you marry or allow in your life can either propel you or stop you.  If this helps you in any way, I ask that you subscribe. Or, if you're already subscribed, I hope you'll leave a comment sharing how this moved you.  With love and virtual hugs, Isis

A beautiful stock image by Gustavo Fring

On the night of Michael’s and my wedding, I danced with my mother. Or, I should say, we swayed as she choked the air out of me. She hugged me so tight, so deeply that I could feel fingernails in the heart-shaped cutout of my dress. I didn't want the song to end, but when it did, she pulled away and whispered in my ear, "You made an excellent choice."

"Thanks, Momma," I said with tears in my eyes and a million thoughts in the back of my head. What did she mean by that? I'd gotten countless congratulations that evening, but no one had commended me on my choice.

I'm a lover girl. I've believed in fairytale romances since I first learned how to read. As a teen, I never dreamed of my wedding, but I incessantly dreamed of marriage. I dreamed of chasing my husband around the house like a big kid, and feeling his arms wrap around my abdomen before he playfully tosses me on the sofa. I dreamed of mundane mornings with coffee on the back deck and waving to neighbors. I dreamed of making love at 4 a.m. because we need each other's bodies more than we need sleep. I dreamed of that lovemaking turning into kids, then grandkids, then great-grandkids, and being called MawMaw and PawPaw and slowly waving our fists with every word like Joe Biden.

Now, when my family calls and asks what I'm doing, I laugh, "Just being a housewife," I quip. To which, just a few weeks ago, my aunt responded, "I'm so happy for you. When you were a kid, I'd ask you what you wanted to be when you grew up, and you always said a mom and a wife."

I don't remember that, but it tracks. Because for me, love and marriage have never felt like a "choice." They were just my destiny. But, in my maturity, I've come to learn that my mother was right. Marriage is not only a choice but the most important choice you'll ever make.

"You made an excellent choice."

I still wonder why she said that, or if she even knows why she did, but I believe part of it is because she knows that before Michael, there was Adam¹.

Adam was who I thought I would marry back in college. He was my first adult love, and I felt, quite literally, that I would die without him. That my heart wouldn't be able to take the aching of him ever leaving; that it would crack and shatter the instant we parted.

I thought our love was passionate, but I could now see it was a cyclone. It was restless and fragile and deceptive. It gathered strength in secret, feeling survivable for a while. Then, with a roar that shook the heavens, it began its march. Winds howled, clouds swirled, and it tore through our worlds with fury—bending morals and drowning out reality until its damage became undeniable.

And still, I wanted to marry that man. I wanted to marry the man who, when I shared that I could see myself being a writer, said, "Isis, please get real. You were just talking about how you want to be a teacher, and now this? You can't be careless forever."

I wanted to marry the man who said my curls were too "ethnic," that my legs were too thin, that my ideas weren't good, and that my life would be a mess if we weren’t together.

I wanted to marry him until he cheated, and my heart cracked, then shattered, and I realized that I did not die, and life was livable without him.

One day during my heartbreak, on a ride home, I had erupted in tears. My legs heart was so weak I couldn’t even make it to the bed. I, an extremely lactose-intolerant woman, lay on the floor of my apartment, eating ice cream, curled like a fetus, and cried out to God. During that hour of anguish and rage and confusion, I encountered God in a way I hadn't before.

My lips parted without warning, and I couldn't control, nor did I believe, any of what I was saying next: "Lord, thank you. Thank you for removing this man from my life. Thank you for reminding me that I am worthy of more. Thank you for setting me up for my next great love. Thank you for this testimony I’ll now have."

At the time, I didn’t have a relationship with Christ. I also hadn’t been going to church because of what I now know to be shame. Shame that I was having sex with a person I knew deep down I shouldn’t be with. And I was ashamed that I was desperately wanting to be loved by someone who didn't love God first. But God isn’t just the Creator, He’s a Recreator, and He used that relationship to make me new.

The Word calls us to be equally yoked. And as silly as it sounds, up until that point, I thought I was. Before meeting Adam, I'd written a list of qualities I wanted in a husband, and he checked all the boxes—stylish, funny, motivated, etc. Here I was, the cheerleading captain, the girl who was no longer ugly or awkward, and I had scored the man on campus: a go-getter, a superstar in my eyes. But that's not what the Lord means when he urges us to be equally yoked. Our earthly bodies and human accomplishments mean nothing to a God who deals with character, faith, and the condition of our souls.

After God picked me up off that apartment floor, I decided to write a new list, guided by simple questions: Does this person share your same moral compass? Do they exhibit the fruit of the spirit? Are they following God fully and faithfully? And my new list was formed: Loves Christ, has a passion for serving, kind to everyone all the time, respectful, patient, a gentle communicator, and more Christ-like features.

A year and a half later, in San Juan, Puerto Rico, I unexpectedly met my angel of a husband, Michael². He was charming and sexy and hilarious and asked me, "What do you care about?"

I told him I loved kids and that I was currently a kindergarten teacher, but I couldn't shake the feeling that God had something greater for me; I just didn't know what it was yet.

He responded, "I believe you. I know that feeling. I just hope I’m by your side to see all that God does in your life."

If you ask Michael, he'll tell you that's the moment he knew he wanted to marry me—right there on that calle³ in San Juan, on the first night we met.

"You made an excellent choice."

I chose to open my heart to him after feeling jaded for so long. I chose to seek therapy to avoid bringing baggage into our blossoming romance. I chose to have tough conversations and ask tough questions. I chose to grow, learn, and become the best version of myself because that's the kind of action Michael inspires the lives of everyone he meets.

And four years to the date that we met, I chose to say yes to being his partner for the rest of our lives.

The other day, I was reading one of my favorite, simple novels: The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, which, as its title states, takes place on the Island of Guernsey.

I turned to Michael and said, “Can you imagine me on a writing retreat in Guernsey, Bath, or the Cotswolds? With a little notepad in hand, and a vintage film camera, and cute teacups?! Ugh! The teacups! What a dream!”

“I can actually,” he laughed, “You should go to celebrate finishing your book!”

“Yeah, right! Maybe one day,” I giggled, thinking he was joking. But no. Within forty-eight hours this incredible man checked my calendar, worked around my school schedule, and booked me a trip. Not just to England, but to new countries I’ve been dreaming about—Netherlands, Germany, Belgium—and my favorites, France and Spain. I leave this weekend.

When we were broke, he'd constantly tell me that my ideas were brilliant, and that one day soon, one would stick. He'd take us on brainstorming picnics and bookstore dates. We'd be watching movies, and I'd catch him watching me instead of the screen. He'd smile and say, "I love the way your brain works. The way you watch movies and analyze stories is so cool to see. You're a wonderful storyteller."

He saw in me something I couldn't yet see myself, and he made it his mission to cultivate, honor, and grow that skill in me. Each time he poured into my creativity, I’d hear my mother’s whisper, "You made an excellent choice."

I still can't believe I've married a man who supports my creative endeavors so much that I've come to believe in myself, too. I often say, in earnest, that if it weren’t for Michael, I wouldn’t be as successful as I am today.

Your partner, and the people who have access to you, hold a mountain of influence over your mindset, achievements, and existence.

There's a passage in the Bible that's often misunderstood by contemporary readers: "So as he thinketh in his heart, so is he."

A lot of folks interpret this to mean you are what you think, and the scripture has been thrown around in mental health and motivational conversations for years. I'm delighted that it’s inspiring people to think and live more positively, but we also must look at this scripture in context.

The entire passage by King Solomon says, “Eat thou not the bread of him that hath an evil eye, neither desire thou his dainty meats: For as he thinketh in his heart, so is he: Eat and drink, saith he to thee; but his heart is not with thee,” (Proverbs 23:6-7, KJV).

The Hebrew word that was translated as "thinketh" means "calculate." This passage is a literal warning to not have dinner with a stingy, calculated host. Because, while you may think they have pure intentions, generosity is not in their heart. Your time, meal, and conversation will be wasted because, ultimately, that person has lured you to their home for reasons that only benefit them.

For us, this passage is a powerful lesson on being mindful of those we surround ourselves with. Just as Solomon warns against accepting food from a stingy host, we must be cautious of those who pretend to be in our corner—the people whose support is ingenuine, shallow, or transactional.

For creatives, this means being careful with our mentors, collaborators, friends, and most importantly, the person we choose to partner with for life.

We must seek relationships with those who give love freely, whether through encouragement, time, or resources—without putting us down or tallying up our debts. And we must also be that person for others.

I now compare new relationships to the one I shared with Adam. I can decide if a potential friendship is worth pursuing by considering if that person makes me feel like I did with him. Do I feel better or worse about myself when I leave their presence? Do I feel inspired or drained on most occasions when we speak? Are they pouring love into me as I am with them?

Your partner and community are actual life-or-death choices. Studies⁴ show that an unhealthy marriage literally changes your brain chemistry, negatively impacting your memory, learning, and decision-making abilities. It disrupts your nervous system and weakens your immune system. It even increases your chances of heart attack (and heartbreak, might I add).

I ask you to truly consider: How will I ever have the energy to say yes to my calling if the person I choose to do life with drains me of all the strength, joy, and purpose God created me to walk in?

To the person who's reading this and is contemplating if their relationship is it for them, if their friendship is worth keeping, or if their community is conducive to the life they’ve always dreamed of, I just hope my story inspires you to make a decision that makes your mom say:

"Honey, you made an excellent choice."

1. Not his actual name.

2. He is named after Michael, the archangel who was a protector of Israel and a warrior against evil. His name translates to “who is like God?" or "gift from God"

3. Spanish for “street”

4. https://www.medicalnewstoday.com/articles/consequences-of-staying-in-an-unhappy-marriage